Norman Osborn wasn't a man who enjoyed being cornered, but right now, the walls of Oscorp Industries felt like they were closing in on him. The air in his office was stale, heavy with the scent of expensive cologne and the metallic tang of impending failure. He stared at the financial projections on his screen, and for the first time in his life, the numbers weren't just red—they were hemorrhaging.
Oscorp had always been a three-headed beast: the Glider and Flight-Suit tech, the Super Soldier Serum, and Curt Connors' limb regeneration project. Any one of these could have changed the world, but together, they were a black hole for capital. And with the military pulling their funding like a rug from under his feet, the beast was starving.
"Damn that ego-maniac Stark," Norman spat, his voice echoing in the empty room. "He didn't just build a suit; he destroyed an entire industry. Every general in the Pentagon now thinks if it doesn't glow with an Arc Reactor, it's a paperweight."
He leaned back, his eyes narrowing as he thought about Justin Hammer. That second-rate hack was currently parading around Washington, promising the world he could mass-produce 'Iron Men' for a fraction of the cost. It was a blatant lie—Hammer couldn't build a toaster that didn't explode, let alone a miniaturized power core—but the military was desperate for a cheaper alternative to Stark's temperamental genius.
"Let Hammer play his games," Norman muttered. "He's buying me time, even if he doesn't know it. But I have to choose. I can't keep all three fires burning."
The Glider was the first to go. It was a masterpiece of aerodynamics, but in a world of repulsor jets, it looked like a toy. That left the Serum and the Lizard... or rather, Connors' "Regeneration" research.
"Connors is a dreamer," Norman decided, his face hardening into a mask of cold pragmatism. "Limb regeneration is a noble pursuit, sure, but it's a slow one. We need a miracle, not a medical breakthrough. The Serum... the Serum is where the power is. If I can deliver a functioning Super Soldier, the military will crawl back on their hands and knees, begging to give me their billions."
He didn't waste any time. He stood up and marched toward the R&D wing, his footsteps clicking rhythmically against the polished marble. He found Dr. Curt Connors exactly where he expected: hunched over a microscope in a lab filled with the soft hum of cooling fans and the faint, earthy smell of reptiles.
Connors looked up, his one remaining arm adjusting his glasses. His face was etched with the kind of exhaustion that sleep couldn't fix. "Chairman? I wasn't expecting you until the morning. I have some new data on the lizard-DNA integration. The cellular bond is stabilizing—"
"Save it, Curt," Norman interrupted, his voice cutting through the lab's serenity like a blade. "I'm pulling the plug. As of this moment, the Limb Regeneration project is suspended indefinitely. All remaining funds and equipment are being reallocated to the Super Soldier program."
The color drained from Connors' face. He stood up, his lab coat hanging loosely over his missing arm. "Suspended? Norman, you can't be serious. We're on the verge! The latest test subject—the rabbit—it grew a full limb in less than forty-eight hours. The tissue is healthy, the bone density is—"
"The rabbit is also a homicidal carnivore, Curt," Norman countered with a cruel smirk. "I saw the report. It didn't just grow a leg; it grew a taste for blood. It slaughtered the other subjects in its enclosure. Is that your 'healthy' tissue?"
Connors flinched. "That's a side effect of the serum base! It's the aggression from the Super Soldier data we integrated. I just need more time to filter out the predatory instincts, to isolate the regenerative markers—"
"Time is a luxury Oscorp no longer possesses," Norman said, stepping closer, his presence looming over the doctor. "And neither do you. You have twenty-four hours to pack up. Seal the data, lock the samples, and vacate the lab. Maybe in five years, when the company is stable again, I'll let you play with your lizards. But for now? We're done."
"Five years?" Connors' voice cracked. "I've given my life to this! Look at me, Norman! Do you think I want to spend another five years as half a man?"
"I think you should be grateful I'm not firing you outright," Norman said coldly. He turned on his heel and walked out, leaving the doctor standing in the middle of his shattered dream.
Connors watched him go, his heart pounding with a mixture of grief and a sudden, sharp spike of fury. He looked around the lab. The vats of glowing green serum, the charts of reptilian genomes, the cages... it was all going to be locked in a vault because a businessman couldn't see past his quarterly earnings.
"He doesn't understand," Connors whispered. "He thinks it's about money. It's about being whole."
His assistants were watching him, their faces full of pity. "Dr. Connors? Are you okay?" one of them asked softly.
Connors took a deep breath, forcing a weak, trembling smile onto his face. "I'm fine, Sarah. Truly. Look, why don't you all head home early? It's been a long day. I'll stay behind and start the archiving process. I... I need some time alone with the work."
They hesitated, but the look in his eyes was one of deep, quiet sorrow. They nodded, offered their condolences, and filtered out one by one. The heavy security door clicked shut, and for the first time in years, Curt Connors was truly alone with his creation.
He didn't start archiving. Instead, he went to the secure refrigerator and pulled out a single, pressurized vial. It was the latest iteration of the serum—the one he hadn't shown Norman. It was a cocktail of concentrated reptilian DNA and the most potent version of the Super Soldier catalyst they had developed.
"Since it worked on the rabbit," Connors muttered, his hand shaking as he loaded a syringe. "Then it will work on me. It has to. I won't let him kill this."
He didn't hesitate. He jammed the needle into his shoulder and depressed the plunger.
For a heartbeat, there was nothing but the silence of the lab. Then, the world exploded into white-hot agony.
"ARGH!"
Connors collapsed against a workbench, sending beakers and test tubes shattering to the floor. It felt like his blood had been replaced with molten lead. His heart wasn't beating; it was thumping like a sledgehammer against his ribs. Every nerve in his body was screaming, a cacophony of pain that pushed his consciousness to the very edge of the abyss.
Outside, a security guard heard the crash and the muffled scream. He pounded on the door. "Dr. Connors? Is everything alright in there? Doctor?"
Inside, Connors was beyond answering. He was slumped on the floor, his body writhing in the grip of a violent metamorphosis. And then, the miracle happened.
His right sleeve, which had been pinned up for over a decade, began to twitch. It bulged. The fabric groaned as something beneath it expanded with terrifying speed. With a sickening sound of tearing muscle and clicking bone, a hand—five fingers, wet with amniotic fluid and pulsing with life—burst through the end of the sleeve.
"I... I did it..." Connors gasped, staring at his new hand. He flexed the fingers. They were perfect. They were strong.
But the joy was short-lived. A wave of heat washed over him, and a shadow began to crawl across his mind. The rage he had seen in the test animals wasn't a "side effect"—it was the core of the serum. His vision began to shift, the colors of the lab bleeding into a high-contrast spectrum of heat and movement.
He looked at his new arm. The skin was no longer pale and human. It was thickening, turning a dull, mottled green. Scales, hard as pebbles, were erupting along his forearm. His nails were lengthening into black, curved talons.
"No... no, not like this..."
He stumbled toward a mirror, but the man looking back was already gone. His jaw was elongating, his teeth sharpening into a row of jagged needles. The human doctor was being buried beneath the rising tide of a cold-blooded predator.
The security guard outside was now calling for backup. "I need maintenance! Dr. Connors is in distress! Get this door open!"
The lizard-thing that used to be Curt Connors snarled. The sound wasn't human; it was a low, vibrating hiss that resonated in the very bones of the room. The scent of the humans outside—warm, salty, and full of blood—hit his nostrils, and the predatory instinct took over.
He didn't want to kill them. Not yet. He just wanted to get out.
CRASH!
The reinforced glass of the fourth-floor window shattered outward as a massive, green blur leaped into the night. He hit the pavement below with a thud that would have killed a normal man, but the lizard-thing simply rolled, hissed at the moon, and vanished into the darkness of the New York sewers.
By the time Norman Osborn arrived at the lab, the scene was one of total devastation. The equipment was smashed, the serum was gone, and his lead scientist had jumped out a window.
"The fool," Norman whispered, looking at the broken glass. But as he listened to the guards describe the arm growing back, his anger began to mutate into a dark, twisted kind of hope.
"He actually did it. He survived the jump. He survived the transformation."
Norman looked at the empty racks where the Super Soldier research was stored. If a broken man like Connors could achieve that kind of power with a flawed lizard serum, what could Norman do with the pure stuff?
"The time for animal trials is over," Norman said, his voice cold and resolute. "If we want to save this company, we have to stop being afraid of the monster in the mirror."